


Comfortably Numb

by Peanut_McNut



Series: Comfortably Numb Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cain!Dean, Dean's POV, Demon!Dean, Gen, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mentions of Blood, Post 9x23, Pre-Slash, light destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanut_McNut/pseuds/Peanut_McNut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley had billed this as being fun. Letting loose. It’s not. Dean didn’t come to demon-hood like Crowley had after years and years of suffering and paying dues in Hell. The Mark is more curse than damnation. He’s not sure if it suppresses his humanity or if it’s slowly burning it out of him, but he knows he’s not a card carrying member of the Hell club. Not in the same way. Not yet anyway. Dean’s an abomination even amongst abominations. He can’t even become a demon right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortably Numb

Dean goes with Crowley, not because he wants to. He doesn’t want anything. Not anymore. Whatever he was has been carved out by the power of the Mark of Cain and his addiction to the First Blade. Dean’s a walking, talking, empty shell. Most of the time, anyway. If it were that simple, things would be better, but it’s never that easy. In his more lucid moments, Dean knows he walked away because of Sam and Castiel. To protect them from him. To protect him from them.  
  
Crowley promises Dean all the killing his dead heart desires. He wastes no time sicking Dean on his rivals to regain his hold on Hell. Dean's first mission is to hunt down Abaddon’s second in command. It takes him less than a day to find him. He drags the demon out into the woods, off in the middle of nowhere. No witnesses. No muss, no fuss. It takes him seconds to dispatch the demon occupying the meatsuit of a corporate lawyer, whose name Dean doesn't know. He didn't need to know to finish the job and it doesn't bother him until after the kill. When the First Blade tastes blood, Dean is Dean again. He’s screaming before the body hits the ground as it falls out of his grasp. His mind is lost, unable to reconcile what he has become. It reminds him of his first years in Hell when he’d sold his soul for his brother.  
  
He cries out for Sam. His little brother. His responsibility. Sammy. Sam who had always believed in him. Even when he shouldn’t have. Even when Dean had given up on himself. Sam had put his faith in the wrong place. All those years Dean had fought against the darkness in Sam. The demonic. It was never Sam who was in danger was it? It was always Dean. Weak and scared and alone.  
  
_Sammy please just come please please please don’t leave me here alone._  
  
He cries out for Castiel, the angel who had fought beside him. Fought against him. Befriended him. Loved him, even though he was broken beyond repair. Even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though Dean was too afraid to love him back. The one who’d dived to the very depths of Hell to drag Dean’s soul back out. The one who’d done so much to save him. Who’d lost so much. Who was going to loose even more when his stolen grace finally faded away.  
  
_Sorry Cass sorry sorry sorry I broke you because I loved you and I break everything I love sorry so sorry._  
  
He cries out for his mom because she would understand wouldn’t she? She’s his mom. She’d still love him, no matter what he does. Kiss his forehead and bring him another slice of his favorite pie. A glass of water when he wakes up from this bad dream. Tuck him back in. Sing him ‘Hey Jude’ all night long to keep the nightmares at bay.  
  
_Make them stop make me stop please someone make me stop._  
  
But that’s not right. Dean’s mom is dead. She can’t hear him. Wouldn’t want to hear him. She was a hunter too, once upon a time. A hunter would know what to do with him. Dad would know what to do with him. None of it matters though. The nightmares took her a long time ago and now Dean’s one of them. She wouldn’t want him now. Neither would Dad. Dad would hunt him. Hunt him like the nightmare that took Mom. It would be the right thing to do. Dean’s reason for being was to take care of Sam and to save people. He can’t do either now. He’s useless.  
  
_You were right Dad you were right just do it please just kill me please you were right._  
  
Dean doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be this.  
  
***  
  
“ _...And let’s go take a howl at the moon,_ ” Crowley had said.  
  
Crowley had billed this as being fun. Letting loose. It’s not. Dean didn’t come to demon-hood like Crowley had after years and years of suffering and paying dues in Hell. The Mark is more curse than damnation. He doesn't know if it suppresses his humanity or if it’s slowly burning it out of him, but he knows he isn't a card carrying member of the Hell club. Not in the same way. Not yet anyway. Dean’s an abomination even amongst abominations. He can’t even become a demon right.  
  
Whatever Dean is, it seems to be enough for Crowley. The demon had wanted someone to hold on to just as much as he wanted to use Dean for his new powers. The guy might be mostly demon, but that little bit of humanity Sam had managed to wedge in there is still eating away at him. Sam said Crowley had begged for love that night in the church. For someone to care. For a friend. Dean serves that purpose, at least in Crowley’s mind, but Dean’s not his friend. Dean is nobody’s friend. It’s not something he’s capable of anymore.  
  
All Dean is capable of is pain. It’s what he creates. It’s what brings him back. It’s what sends him on a gradual slide back down into the void. The only time the pain stops is those few blessed moments after he kills. Whether it’s demon or human or something between, it doesn’t matter. For a few breaths after he withdraws the First Blade from whatever bleeding carcass he’d had it buried to the hilt in only moments before, Dean finds some peace. His mind is quiet. He’s quiet. Clarity returns soon after, and with it so does Dean. It only lasts an hour or two at most, sometimes even less before the itch to kill sends him spiraling into the blankness to wait for his next victim.  
  
Crowley has to come collect him after he completes his missions, dragging him back to the house he keeps him in. Dean doesn't know where it is. He’s never been in any condition to ask and when he is he doesn’t care. It could be in Hell for all he knows. Dean’s mind is too far gone to do anything other than circle as he babbles to the ghosts of the family he’s left behind. Sometimes Mom or Dad come to visit. Dad lunges at Dean, trying to kill him or beat him, he’s never sure. He never tries to fight. Mom only ever cries in the corner, unable to look at him.  
  
Sam and Castiel visit most often, sometimes separate, sometimes together. Sam will frown at him from the corner of the room, mouth moving as his hands and arms gesture wildly while he berates Dean. He can’t hear his little brother. There’s no sound. He wishes more than anything he could hear Sam’s voice, even if it is just him telling Dean how stupid he is. Sometimes Sam is crying and Dean is glad he can’t hear that.  
  
Castiel is always quiet when he comes. He sits on the edge of Dean’s bed, staring at him. Dean wishes he’d rant and rave. Wishes he’d come at him like Dad does. Like he did that night in that dingy back alley when Dean had tried to give himself over to Michael. All he gets is bright blue drilling the pain and the sadness the angel feels into him, tears glistening at the edges of his eyes. Dean yells at him. He cries. He tries to grab the angel. Tries to hold him, but nothing’s there. They’re all illusions. Ghosts that no amount of salt or iron could ever hope to banish. Dean wouldn’t want them gone anyway.  
  
***  
  
During one of the moments he’s still Dean, he makes Crowley promise not to send him to kill Sam or Castiel.  
  
“I can’t do it. Please don’t ever make me do that. Please,” he hears himself saying as Crowley deposits him in his room after yet another kill.  
  
Dean knows he’s far gone when he sees the look of pity in the demon’s eyes before he closes the door and leaves Dean to his hallucinations.  
  
***  
  
Crowley makes the mistake of leaving Dean with the First Blade only once.  
  
It’s after he’d went on a rampage, killing five marks in one go. There had been collateral damage as well. Crowley had had to perform some sort of spell just to get Dean back under control. Dean can still hear the screams of the human bystanders echoing in his head. He doesn’t know how many he killed. Even now that he’s cleaned up, he can see the blood staining his hands. He feels like it’s covering his arms. Drenching his clothes. Weighing him down. It’s pooling around his feet, steadily rising in the room. Filling it up, fixing to drown him.  
  
In his haste to get Dean locked back up, Crowley left the Blade sitting on the table next to his bed, one of the three pieces of furniture in Dean's sparsely furnished room. He grabs it. He positions it out at arms length, pointing it towards himself. He’s calmer than he ever remembers being. He stares at it for a long time before plunging it into his chest.  
  
It stops inches from his flesh.  
  
Dean tries again. Over and over and over until he falls to the floor in a heap. He curls into a ball, arms covering his head as he howls. Crowley finds him that way later.   
  
***  
  
He sees Sam and Castiel once or twice over the next few months during his missions. He knows Castiel is hunting with Sam now. When he does see the two of them, he looks past them. Through them. When Dean comes back to himself again, the thought provides him some small bit of comfort. At least they have each other.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel shouts after him on one such occasion, sprinting down an abandoned road, “Dean, wait!”  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam yells, chasing after both Castiel and Dean.  
  
He disappears on them every time. Dean doesn’t know if they were hunting the same thing as him or if it’s him they’re hunting. He can’t decide which would be worse. It’s the same every time he runs into them. They ask him to stop. To wait. To talk to them. To come home. Don’t they know he can’t? That he’s staying away for them? They don’t understand that whatever is left of him is locked away inside this thing and there’s no coming out. There’s no getting out.  
  
***  
  
It was bound to happen, because Dean’s luck is screwed all to hell whether he’s damned or not. Crowley pushes too far in his campaign to rule everything, causing a big blow out near one of the doorways into Hell. Hidden under the foundations of a derelict shoe factory, Dean’s sidelined. Crowley stations him at the door, the intricately caved stone set in the cement floor of the factory’s small basement. He soon figures out why.  
  
He can hear the sounds of the battle over head. It’s a mad tangle of hunters, angels turned hunters, and demons all fighting for dominance. Dean paces, aching for something to rip into, his mind vacant as always. He stops when he hears footsteps on the stone stairs. Dean raises the Blade, ready for whoever comes through the doorway.  
  
It’s Castiel.  
  
“Hello Dean.”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer. He glares at the former angel. Being what he is now, Dean could see the angels’ grace swirling around their vessels. There’s none of that surrounding Castiel. Wisps of grace still cling to him, but he's well on his way to being human again. Dean couldn’t be any farther from. It would be funny if Dean was capable of laughter.    
  
“I was hoping I’d at least get a ‘bite me’ or ‘go to hell’ out of you.”  
  
Dean doesn’t say anything, watching as Castiel enters the room. The angel stays near the walls, a safe distance away. He circles Dean like he’s a caged animal. He’s got it half right.  
  
“I know you’re still in there, Dean.”  
  
Castiel stops towards the back of the basement. It’s a stupid move. He’s trapped himself. Dean knows the angel used to be one of Heaven’s strategists back when he was one of their winged tin soldiers. There’s some kind of game going on here. Dean needs to figure out what the rules are.  
  
“You need to get out of here,” Dean says, voice rusty.  
  
It’s gruffer than it used to be. Strained. He only uses it when he’s screaming or talking to his delusions. Dean’s orders are to attack anyone who tries to interfere with the doorway. So far, Castiel is staying well clear of it. Dean stays put.  
  
“Are you concerned about my safety?”  
  
“I’m not the one who should be concerned.”  
  
The threat in Dean’s tone causes Castiel to flinch. He tries to hide it, but he does a poor job. Dean turns to face Castiel fully, grip tightening on the First Blade. He can feel the need rising. It’s like he can hear Castiel’s heart beating from across the room. The quickened pace pumping blood through his veins faster as the angel looks into the dead eyes of the man he’d once saved and sees this monstrosity looking back.  
  
“What about Sam’s safety? Are you concerned about that?” Castiel asks.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“You’re brother. You do remember him, don’t you?”  
  
“I know who he is,” Dean says, irritated.  
  
He looks away. He doesn’t want to talk about Sam. He doesn’t want to talk to Castiel. Why is he still standing here? Dean should be tearing the angel limb from limb, watching as his crimson blood blooms across that pristine, white button down shirt he wears under that damn imitation trench coat he’d found after getting rid of the old one. Dean has seen Castiel in different clothes during there other run-ins. This must be a special occasion for him the bring out the old standard.  
  
“He’s up there. Fighting. Winning, actually.”  
  
Dean does look up at that, “What?”  
  
“Crowley is losing, Dean,” Castiel says, taking one step towards him, “He’s going to lose.”  
  
“So you’re here to kill me?”  
  
“I’m here to save you.”  
  
Dean laughs, mirthless, “Save me? From what?”  
  
“From yourself.”  
  
Dean grins, because he’s figured out the game. He moves in closer, keeping the Blade lowered. Castiel, to his credit, holds his ground, eyes never leaving Dean’s.  
  
“You think you can do that?” Dean asks, inches from the angel’s face, “Like you did last time?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Look how well that turned out.”  
  
“If you’re trying to make me abandon you, know that it will not work. I’m not leaving.”  
  
Dean smiles, looking Castiel over. They’re inches from each other. He can feel Castiel’s breath ghost across his cheek in puffs, his body betraying the calm exterior the angel is trying to maintain. Castiel might be brave enough to stand this close to the monster, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel fear.  
  
“What was the big plan?” Dean asks, “Appeal to my better nature? There’s nothing left in here, don’t you get that?”  
  
Then Castiel does something Dean never expected. He reaches out, hand touching Dean’s. The one he’s got wrapped around the First Blade, gripping it like his life depends on it.  
  
“I’m not going to leave you, Dean.”  
  
It’s the first time Dean feels anything that doesn’t come after he’s spilled blood. It’s like the warmth from Castiel’s hand sets him on fire. He can feel it running up and down his skin. They stare at each other. Dean had gotten in the habit of letting his eyes be pitch-black. If this is what he was now, then he shouldn't try to hide it. Unless he needed to pass for human while out on a mission, Dean’s once green eyes stayed black. They’re not black now.  
  
“Cass?”  
  
Castiel’s hand wraps around his, a smile starting to form, “Yes, Dean. I’m right here.”  
  
There’s too much for Dean to feel at once. He can’t keep it all in. He doubles over with a groan, like he’s received a physical blow. Castiel reaches out, putting a hand on his shoulder. The fire burns hotter.  
  
“Dean, what --”  
  
“You need to get out of here,” Dean says, breathing ragged as white hot pain rips through him.  
  
He doesn’t want Castiel to go. Not now that Dean’s back in control. But he won’t be able to hold it. He knows that much. Dean’s afraid. Afraid of what will happen if Castiel is still in the room when he breaks.  
  
“Dean --”  
  
“You get Sammy and you run you, hear me?”  
  
“No,” Castiel says, bending down to Dean’s level.  
  
He holds Dean, pulls him into a hug. Dean doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this close to a person. Castiel leans back slightly, hands on his shoulders. One drifts up to Dean’s cheek, thumb swiping at something. Tears. Dean’s crying.  
  
“Cass, please,” Dean says, broken, “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“Then don’t. Put down the Blade and come with me. We can fix this.”  
  
What Castiel is asking is for Dean to turn back on the Mark, just like that. It's not that easy and the Mark is not going to go down without a fight. Dean’s already losing the battle. He bows his head, Castiel’s hand slipping from his cheek to the back of his head, slowly stroking through the short hairs there. Comforting. Comforting a killer. Comforting _his_ killer. Castiel doesn’t know. He’ll never see Dean coming.  
  
It rises up without warning, a tidal wave that crashes down on Dean, battering whatever will he had left to resist. Castiel is flying across the room, body slamming against the stone walls with a sickening thud. Dean’s on him before Castiel even knows what happened. Looming over the angel as he straddles his waist, Dean puts the Blade against Castiel’s throat, eyes blacker than night. Wide blue eyes stare up at him. Not in fear or surprise. Acceptance. He sees him. He sees Dean.  
  
“You should have left when I told you to.”  
  
“You should have too.”  
  
Dean smirks. Cocky little bastard, right to the end. Dean raises the Blade high over head, a trickle of blood seeps from a small cut he’s left on the angel’s throat. He watches as it slides off to the side, disappearing somewhere behind his neck. Castiel won’t stop looking at him. Watching. Waiting.  
  
It’s that stupid stare. The one he’d always given Dean. Like he could X-ray right through him and see to the heart of him. Who the hell knows, maybe Castiel can. He wants him to look away. To close his eyes. To do anything other than look at him like he’s looking at Dean Winchester. Because Castiel’s not. Dean’s not here. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.  
  
Dean slams the Blade down with all his might, driving towards Castiel’s heart. He stops inches from the angel, like an invisible force stays his hand. With a growl of frustration, Dean pushes harder, but nothing. Castiel is still staring at him.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Dean says through gritted teeth.  
  
“You’re stopping the Blade, Dean.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Castiel gives him a small smile, looking up at him with sad eyes, “I don’t know. As with everything, Dean Winchester, you are always the exception.”  
  
Dean feels Castiel reach for the arm dangling at his side, finding his hand again. He tries to raise the Blade back up, but it won’t move. It’s like it’s stuck. It won’t move forward into Castiel and it won’t allow itself to be relinquished. Dean stares at Castiel, eyes locking again. For a minute, he feels like everything is normal. Dean makes a decision. He grins at the angel, a huff of a laugh escaping him. Confusion clouds Castiel’s features.  
  
Dean drives the Blade home. It sinks deep, tearing flesh and muscle as the Blade finally gets the blood that it wants. Only it’s Dean’s.  
  
He falls to the side, rolling off Castiel as the angel scrambles to his knees, drawing Dean to him. Sam comes stumbling down the steps moments later, taking in the scene, screaming Dean’s name. Castiel just stares at Dean. Shock. Hurt. Grief. Dean wants to tell him that everything is all right, but he can’t get his mouth to work.  
  
“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam says, sliding to a stop next to them, hands grabbing at Dean.  
  
Dean manages to smile at his little brother and his angel. He wants to tell them he’s sorry. That he loves them. That he should have said that sooner. Should have really said it. Everyday. But he can’t, and he’s sorry. So, so sorry.  
  
Dean’s eyes slide closed.  
  
“Dean, no,” he hears Castiel saying, shaking him, “You have to stay with us.”  
  
“Dean, please. Please don’t go,” Sam says begging him as his grips his arm tighter.  
  
“ _Dean... Dean... Dean..._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick thing I did today, because the idea wouldn't leave me alone. I might keep going with it, if I get any new inspiration or if there's any interest, but right now it's just a one shot. Dean's not necessarily dead though, so don't worry. It is a Supernatural fan fic after all. :)  
> I apologize in advance for the overabundance of feels. Thanks for taking the time to read! Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!


End file.
